


Display

by tastewithouttalent



Category: Durarara!!
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angry Sex, Biting, Blood, Denial of Feelings, Established Relationship, Exhibitionism, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, No Plot/Plotless, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Possessive Behavior, Power Dynamics, Rough Kissing, Rough Sex, Size Kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-10
Updated: 2017-07-10
Packaged: 2018-11-17 01:50:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,832
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11265462
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tastewithouttalent/pseuds/tastewithouttalent
Summary: "Shizuo takes a step in to add the whole strength of his shoulder to the casual hold that is pinning Izaya back to the glass of his window. When Izaya inhales he can taste the bitter of cigarettes on his tongue." Izaya and Shizuo take advantage of the more aesthetic elements of Izaya's apartment.





	Display

Izaya is working when Shizuo arrives.

He’s been expecting a visitor. He knows full well what Shizuo will be greeted with this morning at such time as the other stirs himself to go out into the streets of the city; Izaya doesn’t even have to do anything to set off the chain of gossip that he laid the groundwork for weeks ago, just has to wait and let it tumble towards its natural conclusion like a line of dominoes toppling one against the other. He’s been fairly certain it would reach a head today, that the slow-simmering resentment one of the smaller gangs in the city has been nursing would finally gain enough traction to break free, and sometime into his second cup of tea he started to hear reports of a fight out in the main city square, punctuated with shocked horror from newcomers to the city and wry amusement from long-term residents, those who have gained enough experience to not be surprised by the occasional flying trash can or small vehicle. Izaya browses through the reactions for a few minutes: _i can’t believe i’m seeing this_ and _don’t try to tell me that’s a real video, you liar_ from one side and _fucking idiots_ and _lol who picked a fight with shizuo_ from the other; but he doesn’t particularly care about the by-now predictable responses to Shizuo’s escapades, so after watching a shaky cameraphone video long enough to capture the horizontal trajectory of what looks like a park bench and the growl of incoherent rage in a familiar voice Izaya closed out of that particular message board and turned to one of his other hobbies to pass the time while he waits for the fallout to make it to his door.

He doesn’t have to wait long. It’s some ways from Ikebukuro to Shinjuku but Shizuo is nothing if not dedicated; in the end Izaya’s unlocked front door flies open a solid half hour before he was truly expecting the company. The reason for that becomes clear as soon as Izaya raises his gaze from his computer screen; Shizuo hasn’t stopped off at either Shinra’s for medical attention or at his own home to so much as change his shirt. He must have come straight to Izaya’s apartment from his fight; his vest is missing the topmost button, his tie is hanging loose around his neck, and there’s a tear in the sleeve of his white shirt that is staining red with blood from whatever weapon broke through his skin in the midst of the fight. His jaw is set, his eyes are shadowed into fury; Izaya thinks if he hadn’t left his door open it would be off its hinges entirely from how hard Shizuo slammed his fist against it to demand entry.

He looks _incredible_.

“Shizu-chan,” Izaya drawls, pulling the syllables long and drawling in his throat as he leans back from his computer so he can rock back in the support of his chair. “What a surprise. Have you finally decided to attempt communication at a level higher than brute force?”

“ _Izaya_ ,” Shizuo grates, the sound tearing to the open threat of blood past the set of his teeth; and he’s striding forward straight towards Izaya on the other side of the room, not pausing for the bang of the door slamming shut behind him any more than he hesitates over the various pieces of furniture in the way. Izaya wonders for a moment if Shizuo isn’t going to just shove the edge of the coffee table out of his path rather than pausing to go around it; but Shizuo veers sharply around the obstacle, sidestepping the impact without ever so much as glancing away from his focus on Izaya’s face, and Izaya can feel himself starting to grin with the flare of heat rising in him, with the adrenaline tensing in his shoulders and tightening his grip at the arm of his chair even as he braces a hand at the edge of his desk to push back from his computer.

“As articulate as ever, I see.” His chair rolls back to give him a few inches of space to move; Izaya braces both hands at the arms of his chair, steadying himself to push up to his feet as Shizuo closes the distance between them and cuts sharply to the side to come around the edge of his desk. “Really this would be _so_ much easier if I didn’t have to guess--” and then Shizuo’s palm slams into Izaya’s chest, and Izaya is knocked backwards into his chair with a gust of an exhale as if the force of Shizuo’s palm has compressed all the air right out of his lungs. His hold at the arms of his chair slides away, he’s knocked right off the support of his feet; but he’s rising up out of the chair anyway, dragged bodily against the pull of gravity by the force of Shizuo’s fist clenching tight against the fabric of his shirt.

“ _You_ ,” Shizuo growls, the word the hotter for how much closer he is to Izaya now than he was; and then he’s swinging them both sideways, dragging Izaya through an arc in the air as he takes a long stride in towards the windows that make up the wall behind Izaya’s desk. Izaya can see the impact coming, is reaching to clutch at Shizuo’s wrist to brace himself just in case the glass shatters with the force of Shizuo shoving him against it; but when his shoulders hit it’s with a _thunk_ instead of a _crack_ , his head slams hard against the resistance of the glass behind him, and what air he has managed to win is blown right out of him again as his chest is caught between the cool flat of the glass and the unshakeable grip of Shizuo’s fist at his shirt. “Why won’t you just leave me _alone_?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Izaya says, gasping the words from what shallow inhales he can take. His toes are barely skimming the ground, his heels are sliding uselessly for traction against the glass of the window behind him. “I’ve been here all morning, Shizu-chan, I haven’t done anything to you.”

“Bullshit,” Shizuo snaps, his eyes crackling rage to match the tension of the fist he has of Izaya’s clothes. Izaya can feel the strain in the other’s tendons under his fingers, can see the unwavering force of fury tight against Shizuo’s jawline. His heel skids against the glass of the window; his cock twitches against the inside of his jeans. “I know _damn_ well that little stunt this morning was your fault.”

Izaya can feel his mouth dragging up at one corner into a grin as lopsided as it is delighted, can feel his lashes dipping heavy with satisfaction enough to make his lie obvious before it leaves his lips, but he speaks anyway, skipping his voice up high in his chest so it can climb to the heights of injured innocence while he forces his mouth down into a pout. “Aren’t you being a little paranoid, Shizu-chan? I can’t possibly be behind _every_ little thing that goes wrong in your life. You’re a big deal, you know, just because a gang jumped you this morning doesn’t mean it was necessarily my doing.”

Shizuo bares his teeth in hissing fury. “I never said it was a gang, _Izaya_.”

“Whoops,” Izaya says, and lets his grin drag at his mouth again. “You’re surprisingly canny for a monster, aren’t you?”

“ _Fuck you_ ,” Shizuo growls, and he takes a step in to add the whole strength of his shoulder to the casual hold that is pinning Izaya back to the glass of his window. He’s radiant this close up; his hair is tangled by the breeze running through the streets outside, the dark of his eyes are crackling with raw electricity. When Izaya inhales he can taste the bitter of cigarettes on his tongue. “Why won’t you just leave me _alone_?”

“I could ask the same thing,” Izaya says. “You’re the one who came into my home.”

“Because you tried to have me _killed_ this morning.”

“I never,” Izaya purrs. “I sent a gang after you, that’s hardly the same thing.” He lifts his free hand from his side and out over the few inches of distance between himself and Shizuo in front of him to slide his fingers deep into the tangle of Shizuo’s hair. There’s a cut against the other’s hairline, just over the shell of his ear; Izaya touches his thumb to the blood and slides up to collect the color against his skin. “Maybe I just wanted to get rid of them. I knew you’d be just fine.”

Shizuo growls past gritted teeth. “You did _not_.”

“I did,” Izaya tells him, and ducks his head to cast his gaze up through the dark of his lashes. “I’ve been expecting you all morning. Didn’t you notice the door was open for you?” Shizuo blinks, visibly startled out of himself by this point, and Izaya takes advantage of the moment to flash the white of his teeth in a grin and slide his thumb up through the wet of Shizuo’s blood against his skin.

“Maybe I just wanted to see you today,” Izaya suggests; and then he pushes his thumb in hard against the cut at Shizuo’s hairline, grinding his touch in to force pain out into the damaged nerve endings. Shizuo flinches back, grimacing through the first reflexive retreat from the hurt, and Izaya leans in immediately, seizing advantage of the other’s involuntary motion to close the gap between them. His fingers curl to a fist in Shizuo’s hair, his mouth presses hard against Shizuo’s lips, and when Shizuo hisses a startled breath Izaya can feel the rush of it against the flushed heat of his own skin. He lets his grip on Shizuo’s wrist go, abandoning his weight to the force of the other’s hold so he can reach out to clutch at a handful of Shizuo’s open shirt collar, and he’s just turning his head in sideways to better fit his mouth against the other’s when Shizuo’s other hand comes up to grab at the back of his head, his fingers bracing hard against the curve of Izaya’s skull. For a moment Izaya thinks Shizuo is going to drag him back, is going to pull Izaya’s mouth off his own by force; but then Shizuo shoves in instead, pressing hard to pin Izaya back against the glass at his shoulders as he steps in to brace his foot between the other’s toes just skimming the floor, and Izaya’s mouth tenses on the start of a smile before he eases the expression enough to let his lips part into an invitation for Shizuo’s tongue. Shizuo takes it immediately, licking roughly past Izaya’s lips and into the heat of the other’s mouth, and Izaya rewards him with a groan in the back of his throat, far back so Shizuo will be able to feel the purr of it underneath his knuckles bracing at Izaya’s chest. That hand tightens for a moment, fingers clenching to dig crescents of blood against Shizuo’s palm; and then Shizuo’s hold loosens, his grip eases fractionally, and Izaya drops the inch remaining between his heels and the floor at once. The motion pulls them apart for a heartbeat, leaves them both gasping a breath of overheated air off each other’s lips; but then Shizuo is ducking in again, and Izaya is digging his nails in against the back of Shizuo’s neck, and they’re both coming together so Shizuo can lick over Izaya’s tongue with rough force, so Izaya can catch and pull at Shizuo’s lip with the points of his canines.

They’re both quiet for a moment, coherency melted away between the press of their mouths together and the low, soft sounds of reaction rumbling in Shizuo’s chest or catching in Izaya’s. Izaya has both hands in Shizuo’s hair, now, is tightening his hold to fists he knows will be useless no matter how tightly he clings; Shizuo hasn’t shifted his grip at all after that first easing of tension, he’s still holding Izaya pinned back against the glass by one hand while the other braces Izaya’s head still with unthinking force that Izaya can feel running down the length of his neck like a vice locking him in place. He couldn’t break free if he tried, he knows that absolutely; the awareness of it, the thought that he’s entirely at Shizuo’s mercy as he is, shudders down his spine to pool low and hot in his stomach, adding itself to the weight of the tension already there, the anticipation that has been stirring itself in him since those first reports of the fight came through to tell him what would be happening today. Finally Shizuo draws back by an inch, gasping for air against Izaya’s mouth like he’s trying to steal the air right from the other’s chest, and Izaya closes his mouth around the taste of Shizuo’s tongue on his own and swallows hard to bring his voice back to steady.

“So,” he says, feeling vaguely impressed with how calm his voice is, with only the faintest tremor of heat to go along with the desire now tight in every line of his body and clenching hard in the hold of his hands in Shizuo’s hair. “Is that all you came here for, then? A quick fuck?” He lets his body crest up and away from the window, arching over what few inches of motion he can manage with Shizuo’s hands still so tight on him; it’s hardly any motion at all, but it’s still enough to angle his thigh up between Shizuo’s knees, to tip the suggestion of his hip close against the strain at Shizuo’s slacks Izaya doesn’t need to see to know is there. “Be honest, Shizu-chan, you kind of like the violence, don’t you?” Izaya dips his lashes since he can’t move his head against Shizuo’s hold, flutters the dark of them as he lets his mouth tug up into a smile he knows will look at least as much like a taunt as a suggestion. “You send a few people flying and…” and he slides his leg higher, digging the top of his thigh in between Shizuo’s legs with such force that the other hisses involuntarily, flinching with what might be pain in someone else and just looks like irritation on Shizuo’s face. Izaya can feel the length of Shizuo’s cock digging in hard against his thigh. “Hell of a kink to deal with, Shizu-chan.”

“Shut your damn mouth,” Shizuo growls at Izaya, his legs flexing to pin Izaya’s thigh from further movement. “I don’t get hard from _fighting_.”

“Your raging erection begs to differ,” Izaya drawls. He lets himself go slack in Shizuo’s hold, lets his body fall into as much languid relaxation as he can muster with his own trembling desire thudding through him with every heartbeat. “It’s lucky for everyone I’m generous enough to let you make use of me, only _think_ how much of a danger you would be trying to curb your desire on the public at large.”

“Shut _up_ ,” Shizuo snaps, and rocks forward hard to shove the weight of Izaya’s body back against the glass, hard enough that Izaya loses his breath in a rush of heat. “Like you’re not turned on too.”

“I didn’t walk across the whole of the city with _my_ hard-on on display for the world,” Izaya informs Shizuo. “I have _some_ decency, at least.”

“Liar,” Shizuo growls, and then he’s leaning in and down to crush his mouth to Izaya’s, to catch and bite at the edge of Izaya’s lip with the blunt force of his teeth. Izaya’s mouth comes open, his lips part in involuntary surrender to the force of Shizuo’s against them, and the hand at his shirt draws away, dragging hard down the force of his breathing in his chest and over the strain of his stomach to curl against his jeans as Shizuo palms roughly against the outline of Izaya’s cock against the denim. Izaya’s lashes flutter, his hips jerk in reflexive attempt to rock in for more, and Shizuo bares his teeth in what might be amusement, if it came with less of a vicious edge on the expression. “What about this is _decent_?”

“I’m inside,” Izaya says, making what he feels to be a truly valiant attempt at a mocking tone while his whole body goes hot with the force of Shizuo’s hand grinding over him. “The door is shut. It’s private. We’re not in an _alley_.”

Shizuo huffs. “That’s because _you_ didn’t pull me into one.”

“Because _I’m_ the one pinning you back against the wall,” Izaya fires back. “Sure, Shizu-chan, you’re _helpless_ to my feats of strength.”

“Shut _up_ ,” Shizuo snaps, and his hold at Izaya’s head tightens, his fingers flex to shove the other sideways. Izaya’s head turns, his shoulders follow, and then he’s stumbling into a turn as Shizuo pushes him around to face the glass. Izaya gets his hands out in time to catch his weight against his palms instead of his face, at least, but it hardly makes a difference; with Shizuo’s hand at the back of his neck his head is forced forward against the support of the window, his whole body is tipped in until his forehead is pressing flush against the glass to pin the dark of his hair against his skin.

“ _Private_ ,” Shizuo growls, and when he steps in his foot slides between Izaya’s, his thigh angles forward to press hard against the other’s ass and force Izaya’s hips in against the glass in front of him. “You keep yourself on display for the whole _city_ up here.”

Izaya can barely move. Shizuo is pressing in hard against him, the casual weight of his body and that unthinking hold at Izaya’s neck holding him fixed against the smooth glass; Izaya’s lashes almost brush the transparent surface when he blinks, he can see his breath fogging against the pane in front of him. His hips are flush against the resistance of the window; he can feel his cock pinned tight against the front of his jeans by the weight of Shizuo behind him, the pressure of his arousal clearly visible to anyone who might happen to look up high enough to see the shine of his top-story windows, to pick out the shape of a person from the illumination glazing the glass to a blinding sheen. He doesn’t try to keep himself from shuddering, doesn’t try to restrain the tremor of want that runs through his whole body to thrum against Shizuo pushing so close behind him, and against the back of his head Shizuo huffs a breath that is a little bit a laugh and a lot resignation.

“You like it,” he says, a statement and not a question, and his hand is closing at Izaya’s hip, his fingers digging in against the denim as his palm slides around to the front of the other’s jeans. Izaya rocks forward against the pressure, bucking into Shizuo’s hand as the other shoves against him, and Shizuo growls in the back of his throat and closes his fingers hard against the zipper of Izaya’s jeans to drag the metal open under his touch. “You don’t have any shame at all.”

“No,” Izaya manages, struggling to keep his voice steady as Shizuo fumbles his jeans open and shoves roughly to force the heavy fabric down and off his hips. His briefs are clinging close to his body, outlining the shape of his cock in clear relief even before Shizuo weights his palm against the heat and grinds down with another growl, pushing hard enough to pull Izaya’s hips backwards and against the straining front of his own slacks. “It always seemed more trouble than it’s worth.”

“That explains a lot,” Shizuo tells him, his mouth so close that his breath ruffles the hair at the back of Izaya’s neck and creeps into the gaps between his fingers still bracing Izaya’s face against the window in front of them. If Izaya looks down he can just see Shizuo’s fingers pushing up and over his hip, seeking traction inside the elastic of his briefs so the other can push them down and off his skin. His legs are shaking from the position Shizuo has him pressed into; he wonders vaguely if Shizuo can feel the tension running under his fingers as he shoves Izaya’s clothing off his hips to bare the straining curve of his cock for the transparent display of the window. “I should have guessed.”

“You should have,” Izaya tells him, and arches his back to rock himself in towards the glass, to tense his thighs against the pressure of Shizuo’s knee between his legs angling him so tight against the window. Shizuo groans, his body arching forward to pin close against Izaya’s as his fingers drag around to grip hard at the other’s ass instead of his hip, and Izaya lets his mouth pull on a smile as he breathes hot to fog the glass in front of him. “Do I really have to spell everything out for you, Shizu-chan?” He cuts his gaze sideways, as close to turning his head as he can manage with Shizuo holding him so still; he can just see the white of Shizuo’s sleeve hanging loose against the other’s wrist, the button at the cuff torn away at some point during the other’s early-morning fight. “Or can I trust to animal instinct to take it from here?”

“Be quiet,” Shizuo snaps, and his fingers tighten so hard against Izaya’s neck that the other’s head tips back in involuntary response, his spine arching in surrender to the pressure against such a fragile part of his body. “I’m getting there” and he lets his hold go as easily as he offered it, stepping back and away to leave Izaya shaking against the support of the window as Shizuo turns back towards the other’s desk. Izaya stays where he is for a moment, his forehead pressing to the cool of the window and the uncertainty of his balance stabilized by the flat surface in front of him; it’s only once he’s caught his breath back to a semblance of calm that he lifts his head and twists to look back over his shoulder at Shizuo rummaging through the second drawer of his desk, frowning hard at the contents as he shoves through papers and pens alike with no regard for the order Izaya imposed on them.

“There’s no need to be so rough,” Izaya informs him. “It’s not as if I’m hiding it underneath a stack of notes.”

“Fuck off,” Shizuo tells him without turning around. “Where _is_ it, then?”

“Not there,” Izaya says levelly. Shizuo turns back to glare at him, the dark of his eyes crackling threat that doesn’t need words to be understood; Izaya meets his stare with perfect equanimity, not so much as batting an eye at the pressure of the other’s focus. He lets the silence go long for a moment, lets quiet stretch into the strain of rising danger; and then he reaches for the pocket of his jeans fallen slack around his knees, and says, “Was it this you wanted?” as he pulls the lube free.

Shizuo’s whole expression goes thundercloud dark at once. “ _Fuck you_ ,” he bites off, shoving away from the desk and reaching to snatch the bottle from Izaya’s hand, but Izaya is laughing already, amusement is breaking free of his lips even as Shizuo grabs at the back of his neck to shove him roughly against the window. Izaya is ready for it this time, is lifting his hand to catch himself even as Shizuo’s hand closes against him, and he’s still grinning when he hits the glass hard enough that he can hear the _thunk_ of impact against the smooth surface.

“You _took_ it,” Shizuo growls at him, hissing fury against Izaya’s hair as he drops his hold on the other’s neck so he can wrench the lube open instead. Izaya wonders if Shizuo will break the lid entirely, wonders if he’ll need to procure another bottle before their next interlude; it doesn’t matter right now anyway, it’s just an idle thought to run through his mind while Shizuo is pouring slippery liquid all across his hand and fingers. “You _knew_ I’d be coming over here and you took it out of the drawer just to _fuck_ with me.”

“I have to take what entertainment I can get with you,” Izaya tells him. “You’re such an easy mark it’s barely worth the effort but I do what I can.”

“Fuck you,” Shizuo says, and there’s a hand closing hard at Izaya’s hip, fingers digging in against the give of the other’s skin as the bottle clatters to the floor. Izaya would turn to look for it, to see if Shizuo did manage to get the cap back on or if it’s spilling slippery liquid all across the surface under his feet, but Shizuo’s pushing wet fingers in against his skin and down against the curve of his ass, and whatever idle consideration Izaya was giving to the lube scatters in the span of a breath as Shizuo’s touch shoves over him, as lube-slick fingers find and drag against the tension of Izaya’s entrance. Izaya hisses an inhale, his legs flexing tight for a moment of reflexive strain at the promise of that touch; and Shizuo’s fingers shift, his hand angles, and when he shoves up it’s to thrust the whole length of his middle finger into Izaya’s body in a single sharp motion. Izaya clenches against the intrusion, reflex winning out over intention to bear down hard against the sudden friction of Shizuo moving into him, but Shizuo doesn’t hesitate in drawing back for another sharp upward motion. Izaya’s not even sure Shizuo notices the pressure of Izaya tightening around him as he continues to push into the other.

“You’re such an asshole,” Shizuo tells Izaya, growling the words against the back of Izaya’s neck while his hand at the other’s hip holds him steady and his touch forces Izaya’s body to open around it. Izaya is quivering with the motion, his body shaking with involuntary reaction to the pressure working into him and the drag of lube-slick skin over his entrance as Shizuo moves; his cock is achingly hard, he can feel each pulse of heat in him throb against the cool of the windowpane pressing close against his flushed skin. “Why won’t you just leave me _alone_ and stay the _fuck_ out of my city?”

“I did,” Izaya manages, dragging the words free of his lips as Shizuo sets a rough rhythm of working him open, angling the stroke of his finger to stretch the other wider with each movement. “I never set foot in Ikebukuro this morning, Shizu-chan, you’re the one who came looking for me in my _home_.”

“Don’t _fuck_ with me,” Shizuo snaps, and punctuates with a sharp upward thrust of his finger that drives deep into Izaya’s body, that arches Izaya’s spine and angles his head back with the tremor of pleasure that surges out into him from the point of pressure. Izaya hisses an exhale past gritted teeth, trying to hold it back from the whimper of pleasure it’s trying to become, but he doesn’t know how successful he is in that and doesn’t know that it matters that much in any case. It’s not as if Shizuo can’t feel the way he tightened at the force, not as if Shizuo doesn’t know exactly what he’s doing as he draws back to take another decisive thrust upward. “That was still your doing this morning, you’re still _interfering_.”

“What, then, am I not meant to talk to anyone in Ikebukuro at all?” Izaya asks, spilling the words fast between upward strokes of Shizuo’s touch into him. “Aren’t you being a little harsh, Shizu-chan? Who would--” as Shizuo moves out-of-rhythm, fast enough to pull Izaya’s words into a moan of heat for a helpless moment before he can collect himself back into the illusion of calm. “Who else would help you satisfy your _needs_ if not for me?”

“ _My_ needs,” Shizuo repeats. “Like it’s just _me_ that wants this. You set that gang after me deliberately so I would come here to help _you_ scratch whatever itch you have.”

“I sent that gang after you because I _hate_ you, Shizu-chan,” Izaya tells him with as much offhand grace as he can grant to the lie. “You’re the one who got so horny from breaking other people’s bones that you had to come over here and get your dick in me before you even changed your shirt.”

“Shut _up_ ,” Shizuo snaps. “I’m not even fucking you yet.”

“You will be,” Izaya tells him. “You _always_ do, it’s the first thing after any fight you get into, is get your hands on me to prove to yourself how _strong_ you are, how _dominant_ you are, because you can’t control your temper but you can hold me down and fuck me and pretend that you can control _something_ at least.” Izaya tips his head against the glass and cuts his gaze sideways at Shizuo frowning hard at his shoulders. “As if being strong makes you any kind of a lover. Half the time I have to finish myself off anyway, it’s barely better than masturbating.”

“Shut up,” Shizuo says; but he’s staring at Izaya’s face, now, his frown is settling in hard at his mouth and creasing his forehead, and Izaya can hear the uncertainty starting in the back of his throat. “You get off every time we’re together, you don’t have anything to complain about.”

Izaya rolls his eyes with ostentatious force. “Sure,” he drawls. “Spoken like the consummate lover you are, Shizu-chan, you’re a _hero_ of the bedroom.” He turns his head back against the window and heaves a put-upon sigh that he can barely get out past the strain of want in his throat. “Give me another finger so we can at least get this over with.”

“Fuck _you_ ,” Shizuo growls; but he’s pulling his touch back anyway, obedient to the suggestion of Izaya’s words even if he’s resisting the implication of the other’s speech. Izaya takes a breath, fills his lungs with a long inhale; and then Shizuo’s fingers drive into him, and his whole chest flexes to empty itself of air in a single rush. The strain forces him open, the width of Shizuo’s fingers bears down against the tension of his body; and against the window Izaya can feel his cock flush harder with heat, can feel a droplet of precome sliding against the swell of the head.

“Come _on_ ,” Izaya manages, forcing his words to the closest approximation of amused calm he can find. “It’s not like I have all day to wait for you to--” and Shizuo’s fingers shove hard up into him, sinking into his body by their full depth to knock the words right out of his throat. Izaya can feel himself tighten helplessly against the pressure, can feel his eyes go wide on the sudden force; but Shizuo isn’t stopping, isn’t even hesitating to wait for Izaya’s reaction. He’s pulling back again, while Izaya is still gasping open-mouthed for air, and his fingers drive in again, pressing deep into Izaya’s body and drawing another involuntary tremor from the other’s legs as he moves. Izaya has to bite his lip to keep from moaning, to hold back the whimper of effort in his throat as his whole body tenses against Shizuo’s touch, and he keeps his teeth pressing hard against his mouth as Shizuo falls into a rhythm, pushing up with so much force on each stroke Izaya would swear his heels are rocking up off the floor with each thrust. He can feel Shizuo working inside him, can feel the breadth of the other’s fingers fucking up into his body like a stand-in for the strain of the other’s cock; but Shizuo is still breathing with relative calm behind him, is still moving with a deliberate rhythm that he could never maintain if it were his cock Izaya was trembling around. Izaya can feel himself being laid bare, can feel the knot of pleasure tightening low in his stomach without the raw edge of Shizuo’s own desire to distract the other from noticing, until finally he has to gasp a breath and struggle into speech in spite of the telltale strain clearly audible on his voice.

“What are you _doing_ , Shizu-chan,” Izaya manages, barely keeping his voice from cracking open in time with the slick push of Shizuo’s fingers into him. “I can take you by now, you don’t need to keep working me open. Do I really have to tell you everything, now?”

“I know,” Shizuo says, his voice low and surprisingly restrained against Izaya’s shoulder. “I will in a while.”

Izaya huffs. “What are you waiting for?” he asks. “I thought you hated my company, what’s the point of inflicting this on yourself if you’re not even going to get off in the process?”

“This is,” Shizuo says; and his fingers drive up hard, thrusting in against Izaya with absolutely unerring precision. Izaya’s eyes blow wide, his mouth drops open, and when his body tenses on the surge of sensation that washes over him it comes with a moan, too, a helpless spill of heat he can’t hope to restrain as his whole body clenches hard around the pressure grinding against him. His cock jerks at the window, his legs flex with sudden tension; and behind him Shizuo purrs a sound uncannily close to a laugh as he draws his touch back by an inch.

“Yeah,” he says, a single noise of satisfied certainty; and then he moves again, while Izaya’s heart is still pounding with the surge of adrenaline that’s hitting him, with the certainty that he’s in over his head for true, this time. Izaya convulses against the force of Shizuo’s touch, his body tensing with the helpless pressure of the pleasure Shizuo’s fingers are driving out into him, and Shizuo lifts his hand from Izaya’s hip and reaches up instead to press his forearm tight against Izaya’s shoulders and pin the other forward against the window in front of them.

“You don’t like it,” he says, his voice low and heavy at Izaya’s ear, until Izaya is shuddering as much from that as from the force of Shizuo fucking into him with those paired fingers, of the motion driving into him with enough force to rock him up against the window until it’s the weight of his own body pressing him down so hard against Shizuo’s fingertips. “You have to get yourself off.” Harder still, harder than Izaya believed he could take until just now, with Shizuo’s fingers buried inside him; he comes up onto his tiptoes, this time, his toes curling against the floor with the rush of sensation until it’s only Shizuo’s arm pinning him still that keeps him on his feet at all. “You’re just letting me _use_ you.” Shizuo presses his fingers deep into Izaya’s body, the length of the digits straining against the other’s inner walls; Izaya can feel the flex of Shizuo’s fingers shifting within him, can feel the drag of movement as Shizuo works his touch inside the other.

“ _Liar_ ,” Shizuo growls, his lips so close to Izaya’s ear Izaya can feel his hair shift with the sound; and then his fingers slide, his touch presses hard against Izaya’s prostate, and Izaya’s whole body tenses against Shizuo’s fingers as his voice breaks open on a moan as loud as it is helpless. Shizuo doesn’t wait for his reaction to ease; he’s pulling back at once, just by a half-inch so he can gain force for his next thrust in against against Izaya, and Izaya is panting, now, his whole body is straining around Shizuo’s touch and Shizuo is still moving with relentless force to ratchet the tension in Izaya’s body tighter with every thrust. “You are such a _liar_ , Izaya-kun.”

“Fuck,” Izaya grates, forcing the words past tight-gritted teeth that do nothing at all to restrain the hiss of his breathing coming harsh in his throat with every thrust of Shizuo’s fingers up and into him. “Shizu-chan--”

“Shut up,” Shizuo demands, and pushes up so hard with his fingers that Izaya would swear his feet leave the ground for a moment, his whole weight pushed up against the unthinking drive of Shizuo’s touch into him. His palms press to the glass in front of him, his head tips back on a helpless shudder of heat; the head of his cock is dripping wet against the glass in front of him, it’s leaving a smear of damp against the clear transparency with every twitch of heat that jolts through him as Shizuo’s fingers work inside his body. “All you ever do is _lie_ , if you can’t even be honest just don’t talk at all.”

“I,” Izaya starts, but his words scatter, his grasp on coherency is going slick and desperate in the haze of heat spreading through him to flex his fingers against the glass in front of him, to arch his back to buck his hips forward and press the aching heat of his cock against the glass of his window. “I can’t--” and Shizuo’s fingers drive into him, and his whole body convulses with the force of the sensation that radiates out through him. “ _Shizu-chan_.”

“Just that,” Shizuo says, his voice growling as he shoves himself in hard against Izaya’s shoulders, as the weight of his body pins the other close against the cool of the glass in front of him, the transparency making a picture of Izaya’s arousal, of his untouched cock swollen to dark and his stomach fluttering with the tension of anticipation as his whole body draws tighter towards the edge of inevitability. Izaya’s head presses against Shizuo’s shoulder, the resistance of the other’s body behind him offering makeshift support, and Shizuo’s breathing gusts loud against his ear, a huff of an exhale to go along with the speeding force of his fingers setting a relentless pace in their slick movement. Izaya gasps a breath, feels it ache and strain against the flutter of his racing heart and the pressure of Shizuo crushing him to the glass, and then Shizuo’s fingers drive up and into him, lifting him off his toes again, and Izaya’s whole body flexes hard around Shizuo’s touch inside him as he shouts and comes all over the glass of the window in front of him. He can feel every pulse of heat spilling up from the ache of his cock, can feel each tremor of sensation run through him to white-out his awareness, and he’s clenching hard around Shizuo’s fingers, telegraphing each wave of pleasure with every convulsion that runs through him for Shizuo to feel tighten around his touch. Against Izaya’s hair Shizuo sighs a breath, the sound too loud for Izaya to parse it as anything more specific than not-angry; and then he draws back, sliding his fingers out of the other while Izaya is still moaning protest at the loss.

“You didn’t have to get yourself off that time,” Shizuo says against Izaya’s ear, biting off each word like a blow. His knuckles drag over Izaya’s skin, his hand pushes down against the nonexistent space between their bodies as he draws his fly open; Izaya flattens his palm against the glass in front of him and gasps an inhale as if that will do anything to stabilize him while he’s still trembling with the force of his orgasm. Shizuo turns his head in against Izaya’s neck, ducking in closer so he can press his mouth to the other’s skin and breathe in a ragged inhale, and Izaya lets his head tip sideways in slack surrender to the force, lets himself go boneless and limp against Shizuo’s support while his lashes dip over his eyes and his vision wanders itself back to clarity. “Did I _satisfy_ you, Izaya?”

Izaya presses his lips together tight, swallows hard to clear his throat back to something like coherency, but even when he speaks it comes out low and hotter than he intended, like his voice is showing the effects of his orgasm as surely as the tremors still coursing through his body. “Shizu-chan.”

“You can barely even stand up,” Shizuo purrs, sounding as satisfied as if Izaya’s pleasure is his own; there’s the slide of heat across Izaya’s skin, the thick weight of Shizuo’s cock set free of the constraints of his clothing dragging over Izaya’s ass as Shizuo grips against the shaft to draw himself into position. Izaya shudders again, anticipation trembling with painful intensity through the whole of his body, and he lifts his head from Shizuo’s shoulder to tip forward and press his forehead to the window so he can gasp for breath against the cool of it. His exhales fog the glass past seeing, haze over whatever view he might have managed of the street below, but Izaya isn’t really paying attention to his vision in any case. He’s focused on the slide of Shizuo’s knuckles against him, on the motion of the hand pulling to fit the head of the other’s cock against the open heat of his entrance; and Izaya shuts his eyes and lets the air spill from his lungs just as Shizuo’s hips rock forward and Shizuo’s cock slides up and into him by inches. He can’t make it all the way on his first stroke, even with the work of his fingers -- the depth is too much for that, Izaya’s body is too tight -- but this is familiar enough to start renewed heat at the base of Izaya’s spine anyway, to start to prickle electricity out into his body as quickly as Shizuo lets his hold on himself go so he can reach down and brace Izaya’s hips tight between both hands to hold the other still as he draws back for another thrust in.

“Why are you always like this?” Shizuo asks, the strain on his voice making the question obviously rhetorical even before he punctuates with a sharp drive forward of his hips that sinks him another inch into Izaya’s body and knocks the breath from the other’s lungs with the friction over pleasure-sensitive nerve endings. “You always have to pick a fight or--” with another thrust, this one shorter and sharper to force Izaya’s body to ease at the necessary depth to take Shizuo inside him, “--or act like you don’t want this.” Izaya gasps a breath against the window, filling his lungs with as much air as he can manage for the rapidfire thrum of his heart, and Shizuo slides back to ease the pressure inside him for a moment.

“I _hate_ that,” Shizuo growls, and then he drives forward with enough force to sheathe the whole of his cock in Izaya’s body at once. Izaya jerks with the motion, his legs flexing and breath spilling from him as he tightens reflexively against the straining pressure, but Shizuo’s hands are still bracing his hips to immobility, and when Shizuo draws back it’s only to take another long thrust up and into him. “I could make you come until you couldn’t see straight and you’d _still_ do that. Why can’t you just say you like having sex with me?” Shizuo is setting a rough pace with his hips; Izaya can feel the strain of the other’s restraint giving way in every slick thrust Shizuo takes, in every drag of Shizuo’s cock moving back and out of him only to drive back in. “It’s not even that hard.”

“Like you say it,” Izaya gasps, forcing the words past the strain in his throat, past the pressure inside him, the strain filling him so completely he can barely fill his lungs for the sensation of Shizuo’s cock pumping into him. “All I ever hear is how much you hate me and you want me to be writing odes to your cock?”

“That’s not what I said,” Shizuo snaps. His thumbs dig in hard against Izaya’s skin; Izaya can feel the bruises from the force rising against the line of his pelvis locked in place against the other’s thrusts by Shizuo’s hold. “I just want you to tell me you enjoy this.”

Izaya huffs the most mocking laugh he can manage when he feels like his whole body is melting from the fire coursing through his veins. “What, and you do?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Shizuo snaps, with so little hesitation that Izaya can feel the force of the word shudder down the length of his spine, can feel it resonate against his chest and ground itself out in the tension of his balls still drawn up close against the base of his cock from the lingering effects of his last orgasm. “Fuck, Izaya, what part of this makes you think I _don’t_ want you?”

“I don’t know,” Izaya pants. “Maybe it’s just easier for you to work off your aggression on the nearest available target.”

“I came to _Shinjuku_ ,” Shizuo growls, and his hips come forward to underline the word, to press as deep into Izaya as the limits of their bodies will allow. Izaya’s fingers tense at the window; his breathing catches in his throat. “I was in the goddamn middle of Ikebukuro and I came out _here_ , for _you_.”

Izaya gasps a breath. “Because you decided I was behind it.”

“Because I wanted to _fuck_ you,” Shizuo snaps. “Because I wanted to get my fingers inside you and make you come so hard it wiped that fucking smirk off your face, and then I wanted to pin you up against your window and _take_ you--” as his hips slam forward, as Izaya’s breath spills on a moan, “so you’ll think about coming around my dick every time you look out at the city.”

Izaya isn’t sure if the sound he makes is more a laugh or a moan. “I haven’t come around your dick yet.”

“You will,” Shizuo says, with such absolute certainty on the words they sound like a promise, they feel as unflinchingly absolute as the weight of his touch did when he was dragging Izaya’s orgasm from him by force as much as via the other’s surrender. Izaya can feel his lashes flutter, can feel his cock stirring towards full hardness again, and he doesn’t try to argue the point.

“You just like making a show of it,” he says instead, without lifting his head from the window or trying to pull his gaze away from the steam-fogged surface in front of him. “Pushing me up against the glass so everyone can see what you’re doing, so everyone can _see_ your hands on me.”

Shizuo snorts. “Isn’t that what your windows are _for_?” he asks, and bucks up hard enough that Izaya’s hips slide against the glass, that the swelling head of his cock drags through the smear of come dripping down the window from his first orgasm. “So you can make a show of yourself up here above everyone?”

“Yeah,” Izaya says, because it’s close enough to true, anyway, and more so because Shizuo is moving harder into him and his coherency is giving way, melting back into that steam fogging his thoughts as much as his vision. “So everyone can see me taking your cock up my ass, Shizu-chan, so everyone knows how much I _love_ it.”

“ _Fuck_ ,” Shizuo groans, and snaps his hips up sharply. “ _Yes_.”

“Anyone could look up,” Izaya continues, blinking hard to look down at the city streets far below, at the distant motion of people walking through their day-to-day lives oblivious to the tension rising against his spine, oblivious to the sound of Shizuo’s breathing going pantingly rough at the back of his neck or the ache of arousal tightening to a fist against the base of his cock. “Any stranger at all, they could look up and see me up here with my cock hard against the window and you pushing against me and--” as he drops a hand to his stomach, as he presses his palm hard against the soft give of it until he can feel the rhythm of motion in him, can feel the strain of Shizuo filling up all the space inside him, “--and _watch_ your cock moving in me, _fuck_ Shizu-chan.”

“ _Fuck_ ,” Shizuo echoes, and his hips jerk forward hard enough that Izaya can feel the head of Shizuo’s cock shove against the weight of his palm pressing on his stomach, can feel the strain inside him as his body shifts around Shizuo fucking up into him. “ _Izaya_.”

“I want them to see,” Izaya gasps. “Just like this, I want everyone to know, I want them to see you inside me and know that I love it, that I want it, I want to come around your cock and I want you to come inside me and I want-- _fuck_ , Shizu-chan, I want to _come_ , _please_ just--”

“ _Yes_ ,” Shizuo says, and he’s moving faster, Izaya can hear the sound of their bodies coming together with slick-wet force on every forward thrust Shizuo takes. “ _Izaya, god_ yes.”

“Shizu-chan,” Izaya gasps, his fingers tightening at the glass, his voice dropping off into uncertain depths, “I’m going to--” and Shizuo thrusts so hard Izaya’s hand at his stomach jolts with the force, and Izaya moans helplessly as his cock jerks and spurts wet against the glass, as his body tenses through the force of pleasure that sweeps through the whole of him. He has hardly anything to come, with his last orgasm still sticky on the glass in front of him, but that doesn’t stop his body from trembling through the waves of pleasure, doesn’t stop him from clenching down on Shizuo inside him with the full-body convulsions of heat that are hitting him. Shizuo makes a low sound against his throat, the note of it raw and desperate with desire, and as Izaya goes slack with the aftershocks of orgasm Shizuo’s hands brace the tighter at his hips, Shizuo’s thrusts move harder into him. Izaya is shuddering with each one, pleasure spiking and inching towards the edge of pain with each flex of his body through every wave of sensation; and then Shizuo’s hold drags him closer to the other, and Shizuo’s groan forms itself to the sound of “ _Izaya_ ,” and inside Izaya Shizuo’s cock pulses into a surge of heat as the other comes. Shizuo takes a last stuttering thrust forward, letting the friction of his motion draw the waves of his orgasm up and out of him; and then he goes still, and Izaya shuts his eyes and listens to the sound of Shizuo’s breathing steadying alongside his own.

“Fuck,” Shizuo finally says, his voice soft and heavy with the weight of pleasure and resignation in what Izaya thinks must be nearly equal parts. “Why is it always so _good_ with you?”

Izaya takes a breath and lets it out, slow, with all the force of sincerity behind the sigh of satisfaction in the back of his throat. His whole body hurts; he can feel the prints of Shizuo’s fingers digging bruises into his hips, can feel the strain of Shizuo still inside him settling into a dull ache that he’s sure will linger through the rest of the day and into the slow hours of the evening. He can already see himself later tonight, long after Shizuo has left and taken the heat of his presence with him, closing his hand around himself and closing his eyes and jerking himself into his third orgasm of the day around just the memory of this moment, just the recollection of Shizuo’s hands at his hips and Shizuo’s breathing at his neck and Shizuo’s voice drawn ragged over the desire that is always between them, honed to a razor edge on the fighting as much foreplay as it is anything else.

“I don’t know,” he says, and lets his head fall back to weight heavy at Shizuo’s shoulder behind him, to trust the whole of himself to Shizuo’s support for a moment of time. “If you ever figure it out, Shizu-chan, let me know.” The glass in front of him is clearing, the fog of his breathing fading from the cool of the surface to give back the view of the city below and the residents of it; but Izaya keeps his head tipped back, and keeps his eyes shut, and lets the present warmth of Shizuo’s touch flush his skin like the steam of an exhale against the chill of a high-rise window.


End file.
